A story told by Kent Nerburn

Several years ago, a cab driver arrived late at night for a pick-up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, he normally would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. Instead he went to the door and knocked.

“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.

He could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80′s stood before him. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. He took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took his arm and they walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking him for his kindness.

“It’s nothing,” He told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want to be treated.”

When they got in the cab, she gave him an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” he answered quickly.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry.”

He looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

“What route would you like to take?” he asked.

For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She showed him the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. They drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had him pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask him to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

They drove in silence to the address she had given him.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as they pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. The cabbie opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.

“Nothing,” he said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers.”

Almost without thinking, he bent and gave her a hug and said, “Lady, I can be an angry driver, often impatient, especially at the end of my shift. I thought of honking once and then driving away. Personally, I feel like I have never done anything more important in my life than what I did tonight, which tells me that it was not me driving you around town tonight but my Lord Jesus Christ.”

She held onto him tightly and said, “You gave me an evening of joy.”

He squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind him, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life and the awakening of another.

This is the gospel of welcome, where we at the Catch — who are everywhere worldwide — are introducing the Gospel of Welcome — Grace Turned Outward — to everyone we meet. We entertain strangers, care about each other, and then go deeper to discover someone’s need. We heal what is broken, embrace a life and improve it, and when they say, “How much do I owe you?” we proclaim that if anything they experienced was significant, we proclaim that the kingdom of God is here.